These Tears We Shed
by the-brightest-fell
Summary: A collection of short stories revolving around the different meanings behind tears and the relationship between Soul and Maka.
1. Her Escape

**Author's Note: **Yeah...so these ideas came from a poem I found that I wrote a long time ago about the different meanings behind tears and so I decided to create ten (well, that's how many are planned...) short stories about Soul and Maka with each emphasizing or mentioning tears. Not sure exactly how it'll end up being rated so I'm gonna stick with T for now, but there is one that I'm tempted to throw something a bit more explicit in. I'll probably update these weekly since I already have three (and a half) of them written. Maybe if I finish them all early, it'll be done quicker. Ah, well. We'll see how it goes!

**Disclaimer: **No way is Soul Eater mine! I'm flattered you thought so...also, the image for this story is most certainly not mine! It is from deviantart by the artist spiralDorgapy and is titled "I don't know..."

**Summary: **Maka really loves books and Soul never could quite understand why...until he discovers the true meaning behind the vicious girl's favorite weapon of choice.

* * *

Her Escape

Maka had an obsession with books. Big books, small books. Red books, blue books. It didn't matter. They were everywhere in the decent flat the two teenagers resided in. There were three cases lined edge to edge against one wall in the living room filled with them and stacked two rows deep. But even that wasn't enough space for her vast and constantly growing collection. Soul knew from his brief glimpses inside that her room had multiple shelves covered in stacks of the, in his opinion, depressing, intimidating objects. The topics of the books ranged from the most extensive and boringly detailed medical procedure to the topics they studied in school to material Maka read in her spare, and sometimes not so spare, time.

The girl never left the house without one of the leather-bound novels on her person. She said that she carried them around in case she ended up getting bored, but Soul and Black Star held the vivid theory that she did it specifically for those moments where their actions required a swift (and deadly) punishment. The two males also eventually discovered that just because one didn't actually _see _the aforementioned weapon did not mean that she couldn't produce one out of thin air should her desire to use it arise.

With books cluttering his living space and constantly bashing his skull in, it was no wonder Soul detested them. Books weren't cool and shouldn't be anywhere within a ten-mile radius of a guy as cool as him. But, with the threat of receiving a very painful Maka-chop hanging over him, he decided not to ever complain to his incredibly uncool meister about the vile, unwanted guests in his home.

Though, if he was being completely candid, these were miniscule bumps in the road in comparison to his true issue with the inanimate objects. It was so stupid, so unbelievably uncool, that when Soul consciously realized why he had a problem with the novels and his obsessive reading meister he demanded Tsubaki and he trade living arrangements for a month. He assumed an entire month dealing with the "great god-surpassing Black Star!" would not only distract him from the idiotic thoughts but also effectively eradicate his insane, dumbass mind of them altogether. Needless to say, the plan had not worked as well as he would have liked it to…

The thing was…Soul was actually _jealous _of the damn bits of ink and paper! When she received a new addition to her collection, Maka would quite literally forget his existence. She didn't cook. She barely cleaned. Hell, the flat-chested brat wouldn't even _study _as much when she obtained another "good book to read!" All the beaut-, ahem, boring girl would do was sit on her ass and read.

Soul cynically thought that whatever force held Maka's soul-stealing eyes to the black letters dancing across thin pages could easily sue Mr. Mason's Super Glue for false advertising—"strongest shit on the planet," his ass. Super glue had nothing on whatever trapped dainty hands and emerald eyes to a new book.

And what was so special about them? Soul couldn't tell. He had asked her once and instantly regretted it. A weird emotion passed over her pale face, eyes clouding over and the bottom left corner of her coral lips twitching. The scythe had cringed in anticipation of a Maka-chop worthy of a trip to the hospital, since her eyes and mouth did that occasionally when she was very angry, but it never came.

For a few seconds, Soul had thought that perhaps it had been so hard it had simply killed him upon impact. But when he finally gained the courage to open up his squinted eyes, the albino was surprised to see his meister staring at her folded, trembling hands, a soft blush lighting her cheeks.

"I don't know…they're just…kind of like my best friends I guess. I-I always learn so much."

And after receiving such a response, the young boy suddenly wanted a Maka-chop to knock him out. Because that hurt…in a really loser, uncool way. He would never admit it but it bugged him that her books took precedent over him. _Soul _should've been her best friend…not a collection of paper written and touched by people she had never met. As his feelings for the bookworm grew through the years, he found his hatred for her prized possessions growing, too.

Until that day…

It was a Monday. Soul remembers that fact distinctly. The whole day would forever be imprinted in his mind and on the back of his eyelids. Mostly because he relived and replayed it every chance he got. Yes, it had certainly been a Monday when Soul Eater Evans discovered the _real _reason Maka Albarn hoarded books.

The weekend before the fated Monday had been filled with equal amounts of joy and irritation. Friday night had been amazing. Kid, Liz, and Patty were absent; off on some mission in…South America? Yeah, something like that. Black Star and Tsubaki were nowhere to be seen (or heard from) either. Soul didn't actually bother to save this particular information. His best guess was that they were visiting Tsubaki's family in Japan. But, oh, did he preserve every single detail of the rest of Friday night. It had been just him and his meister. Home alone. On the couch.

Watching horror movies.

The scythe found it intensely entertaining that Maka, the bravest and most fearless person he had ever met, was scared of the compilations of fake blood, poorly acted screams, and pathetic monsters. Honestly, they dealt with and fought scarier stuff on a daily basis. Still, that didn't stop the petite girl from squeaking in distress or jumping three feet into the air every time something went "boo." It was about halfway through their second "horror" movie when it happened.

The killer had appeared quite literally out of nowhere and was chasing the diminishing band of characters when Soul felt something insanely _warm_ against his right side. Startled, Soul's crimson eyes flashed in the semidarkness to find a tightly curled, whimpering Maka clinging to his arm. Presently, her face was actually sandwiched between his shoulder blade and the couch. His heart was quickly thrown into hyper drive, pulse thudding way too loudly in his ears. He could feel every distinct beat of the cursed organ, but couldn't quite force himself to regret what had thrown him into what felt like a heart attack.

On a whim, he lifted his right arm up and she threw herself at him. She was almost on top of him, lean arms encircling his waist in a shaky grip. Soft, floral-scented hair brushed against his right cheek and neck and sent tingles up and down his surprisingly relaxed body. They remained that way all through the night. In fact, Soul would've thought the whole thing a glorious dream if he hadn't woken up cradling a sleeping Maka against his chest.

That was Friday night.

Saturday morning was another joyous occasion. Instead of getting upset over what had transpired, Maka had actually thanked Soul. She even went as far as to tell him that was probably the best she had slept all week, which sure sounded like a hint that they should do it more often to the ecstatic teenage boy.

The partners had spent the afternoon together, content in remaining alone with each other in their apartment. They played video games, watched more movies, and Maka made her special mac and cheese for lunch. Soul decided they should go out to eat, and they did. He took her to a fairly nice restaurant and had paid the bill, hoping it might cause the normally oblivious blonde to realize he had feelings for her. She had protested to him paying, of course, and he was forced to use the excuse of it being his turn to cook dinner to explain his "date-ish" actions. His stubborn meister eventually relented, but only after they had agreed she would do all the cooking next week.

That was when the weekend turned sour.

They were walking home, hands lazily linked together, when they passed the local bookstore. Maka had squealed, her lovely green eyes widening in excitement, when she spied a newly released book by her favorite author. The second her goddamn gorgeous eyes met his, he knew the battle was lost. Soul had dragged the twittering girl inside and purchased the fucking object of her desire. And when they got home?

She ran to her room. The angry albino didn't even see her until Monday morning.

Maka read that stupid piece of shit the entire day, not even bothering to _pretend _to pay attention in lecture. Soul fumed in silence, more than a little upset at himself for being the inadvertent cause of his misfortune and _really _upset at the small green novel held tenderly in Maka's calloused hands. If looks could burn books, the damn thing would have been a bitter pile of ash on the meister's desk several hours ago.

And now…now the fucking thing was keeping him from dinner! His stomach growled and gurgled furiously and Soul didn't even attempt to quiet the strange squelches of protest. It was 8:00 at night and she was _still _reading the fucking book! Maybe if his stomach continued making strange noises it would distract her long enough to cook his dinner. Oh, sure, she had said that as soon as she finished this chapter she would get up and make it, but that had been a good thirty minutes in the past!

Soul muttered under his breath something about wondering if books were edible when a very loud THUD came from his right. The weapon jumped up and whirled around, his body quite experienced with dodging and answering clamorous sounds. He almost changed his arm into a blade out of habit until he located the source of the noise.

Maka's precious green book was lying in a strange position beside the far wall. Maka herself was standing and her chest was heaving as though she had just returned from a very long, hard mission. Her normally pale face was colored a bright red and her green eyes were narrowed and sharp. The expression she bore was one Soul knew well and the glare marring her beautiful face only reinforced his judgment of how she was feeling. She was angry, enraged. It was the same look she wore when taunted by a kishin.

But why was she glaring at the book? Had she…did she actually _throw _one of her beloved books at the wall? She had to of done so. It was the only explanation.

But why?

With a huff, Maka ran to her room and slammed the door, leaving a bewildered but starving Soul Eater and a book with a broken spine. The weapon stood there in the eerie aftermath for a few minutes before his curiosity won out. Carefully and quietly, Soul tiptoed over to where the book lay, keeping his ears and eyes pinned to Maka's closed door.

He gingerly reached down and picked up the abused novel, staring at the damage a single toss at the wall had done to it. Then again, it was his meister who had thrown it…he knew from experience that she had quite an arm. It was the only explanation for how such a slender girl could lift and decapitate monsters with a scythe on a regular basis and could concuss just about anyone with a single Maka-chop.

The white-haired teenager glanced worriedly in the direction of the beast's lair, but no sound emanated from behind the wood so he figured he was safe for the time being. Nimble fingers flipped through the pages of the tattered object and he was surprised to see that the owner wrote notes in the margins. The temptation to read the thoughts of his meister was agonizing, but Soul decided that could be done later. Right now…he wanted to find out what had sparked such a rage in Maka. A rage so great that she had thrown one of her "best friends" at the wall. Her actions were unheard of. Never in the years they had been together had he seen her react so viciously….well, towards her books.

Finally, Soul reached the chapter she had been reading. His blood red eyes studied the pages, skimming through the actions of the characters and the development of the plot. Let's see…there was a fight here, a meeting there, the main villain was outed as being one of the good guys, and the chapter ended with the two main characters having a very, very passionate love confession and…moment. His cheeks got hot when he read (yes, read not skimmed) that portion of the chapter, but he didn't think that was enough to warrant a meeting with the wall. In fact, he hadn't found anything that he thought would upset his meister. So...what then?

The scythe took a deep breath and shrugged, lightly tossing the book in the direction of the couch. Whatever. If Maka wanted to throw a temper tantrum and her books, that was fine with him. So long as his skull stayed in one piece…though with Maka locked in her room the chances of obtaining a proper dinner greatly decreased…

The screams of his stomach had reached the point where Soul abandoned reason. He was so hungry that he was willing to test fate and started in the direction of Maka's door. Just as he was about to knock and _demand_ (more like beg) for dinner, he heard it.

A very light but very pain-filled sob.

Soul's tired (and starved) brain was slow to understand. Who was in Maka's room crying? Did Tsubaki come over without him noticing? No, no…he was pretty sure it was just him and Mak-

Maka.

Maka was crying.

A couple of more confusing seconds passed before Soul hastily threw open the door, a strange panic, like wriggling souls or heavy stones, settling in his hollow inside. What had happened? Was Maka okay? He had to know.

Curled in the fetal position, on the floor no less, was the indomitable Maka Albarn. Sobbing and shaking on the floor was his fierce, bold meister, the same one that never bat an eyelash at danger and imminent death. She was crying like a poor, wounded animal, green eyes wide but definitely unseeing, locked inside the prison of her mind and drowning in her tears.

She was so far gone she didn't even notice her intruder until he was in front of her, grabbing her, holding her, screaming at her.

"Maka! Maka! What the hell is going on? What happened? Maka, answer me! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital? Maka! Maka, what's going on? Please, Maka, answer me!"

Her sobs were louder now and she squirmed in his grasp, as though trying to escape.

"Let go! Let go of me! LET THE FUCK GO!"

But, he didn't. At this point, he wasn't sure if he could. He sure as hell knew he didn't want to. So, he refused to.

"No. Not until you explain what the hell is wrong with you!"

Her body froze, muscles tensing. He felt a pinch in his arm and it briefly registered that her nails were digging into his skin.

"…What's wrong with me?...Hah. What _is_ wrong with me? That's the million dollar question, isn't it? I don't even know. I wish I did though…I swear I'd fix it. But I don't even know. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me…I mean, I keep waiting. And it's pointless. It's stupid. They don't even work anymore. It hurts worse. They don't work anymore."

Briefly, Soul relinquished his tight hold on her, but only to adjust her in his arms so that he could see her tear-stained face, light trails of silver shining in the moonlight from her window. He stared at her for a while, very aware of how she wouldn't look at him. Very aware of how dead and dull her usually lively eyes were.

"Maka…what on Earth are you talking about?"

She didn't respond for some time. He almost got irritated and was about to repeat his question when she took a shaky breath, a sign of incoming answers. Even then, it took another minute for her to open her mouth and a minute after that to find her voice. But, afterwards, Soul decided the wait was worth it.

"I…I learned a long time ago when Mama and Papa used to argue every night that if I just read a book…I could disappear. I got lost in them, in that other world. It was…such a beautiful discovery. I wasn't here anymore. And I wasn't in any pain…They were the means to my escape. When I read, I could become anyone, do anything. The rules of life don't apply inside my books. The problems are always solved. There's always a conclusion of sorts. You're left sad, but satisfied with the ending. But now…now they don't work…I can't escape anymore…i-it still hu-hurts…and th-they taunt m-m-me." And with a strangled sob, the tears began running down her face once more.

The boy sat there and allowed her to cry. He didn't know for how long, but he didn't exactly care they sat there. Yes, the floor was hard and cold and extremely uncomfortable, but the sensation of her weight in his arms and her warmth against his chest was worth it. Soul was content so long as this girl stayed next to him. He simply waited until she quieted, softly caressing her hair, her satin skin, his thumb outlining her lips and swollen eyes. Once her breathing had reverted to something somewhat normal, the girl's partner continued on in his quest for answers.

"Maka…what's hurting you? What are you trying to escape from? I don't understand…what's hurting you. I mean, I understand wanting to escape back then, but why now? You have friends that love you, and we don't do amazing but we have a good home and a happy life, right? And you have me so I don-"

"For now."

"…what?"

"I have you…for now. But I won't forever. You're a Death Scythe. You can do whatever you want. You can live your own life. And Soul…I don't expect you to be my partner forever. How else are you going to get married and have kids and a…a life? I just…I really don't want to hold you back, Soul. Especially since I-I…" Her voice drifted away, unspoken words floating heavily in the room. They didn't leave like she intended when she cut herself off.

Rather everything was suddenly so clear and sharp and made fucking sense. Perhaps it was their souls unconsciously resonating because of their close proximity and touching bodies or perhaps Soul wasn't as dumb as he seemed, but he figured it out. Images and sounds from the last couple of months surrounded him as he finally understood.

_Maka at the bookstore fidgeting nervously-"Umm…I think I'll take this one…" "Hey, tiny tits, since when do you read romance novels?"_

_ Tsubaki and Liz squealing, "Oh, Maka! You look beautiful with your hair down! I can't believe you've worn it like that all week!" "T-thanks…Soul says it looks better this way so…"_

_ Maka smiling sweetly down at him as she tapped his shoulder-"Hey sleepyhead! It's time for dinner and I made your favorite: fish!" "Oh…don't you hate fish?" "Umm, well, yeah, but you love it so I thought…"_

_ "Hey, Maka, what did that guy want?" "Oh, nothing really. Something about going to a movie on Sunday." "What?! He asked you out on a date?" "Well, I don't know if that's what it was, but it doesn't really matter. I said no." "…why?" She slapped him. "Because Sundays are _our _days, idiot!" He was gifted with her happy laugh. "And I wouldn't want to spend it with some other guy."_

_ "Soul…" Maka blushed in an entirely too cute way. "Have you ever kissed a girl?" "D-don't ask questions like that, Ms. Nosy!" "So you have!" "I didn't say that!" _Maka-chop! _"Whatever, Soul. Do whatever you want. I don't care. I didn't really want to know anyways!"_

_ The two main characters of her book confessing to one another…loving one another…"th-they taunt m-m-me…"_

She…about him? Yes. Yes, he was sure. He _knew_ in his very soul that she did. And the idiot didn't think that he…for her. Oh, how so like his fragile, naïve meister.

"Maka?"

"S-soul?"

"I think it's time we sell some of your books."

"W-what? Why?" Even in her depressed state he could see the flash of anger at such a suggestion, especially after that particular admission.

"Because. You don't need to escape anymore. Actually, fuck that. I'm not going to _let _you escape anymore. I'm not leaving you, and you for sure aren't leaving me."

She began to struggle against his hold again and this time, he released her. Maka kneeled in front of him, her eyes unsure and somewhat frightened. As though the whole situation could break her. As though he could break her.

They didn't speak for a time. The weapon-meister pair searched each other, souls occasionally brushing against the other's like gentle caresses between lovers in the darkness and white light of the grinning moon. Soul merely sat and watched the expressions and emotions dance across her face: happiness, elation, suspicion, fear, relief. He didn't focus on the reflection of his face in her glassy eyes. He knew what he looked like.

His mouth would be stretched into a lazy but sincere smile like a cat's spine curving under the sweet sun's rays. His white hair would be messy and unruly, the one disorganized thing Maka could stand and had admitted she liked. And his eyes…well, he was absolutely positive that they would be shining and glowing like embers. They would be a bright, vicious scarlet, the same color as the twelve roses he bought for her every year on her birthday, and there would be nothing to see but intense love deep within them.

And, eventually, Maka saw all of this. It was a hard night, but eventually the girl believed what she saw. Eventually, when he finally had the privilege to whisper his sweet, albeit cheesy and uncool declarations of love, she listened. And, though she had been too surprised to respond at first, she eventually moved her mouth and kissed him back.

Soul made damn sure the next morning to package every means of escape. He didn't burn them like he wanted to (Maka had said that books were still beautiful, amazing things) but donated them to the local library so his love could "visit" them whenever she wanted. But she didn't need them to surround her anymore.

Because now that Soul had her, he didn't dare give her a moment to make her escape.


	2. The Sound of Souls

The Sound of Souls

Maka was a very practical person. Analytical. And smart. She understood the most complex theories, like Einstein's Theory of Relativity or String Theory or even Particle-Wave Duality Theory, easily and effortlessly. If anyone had a chance of obtaining all the knowledge of the world, it would probably end up being Maka Albarn. She liked understanding and knowing. She liked answering all the questions of her inquisitive mind.

But…everyone has an Achilles' heel. She was no exception.

Hers was music.

She found it slightly ironic that the one subject she hardly had a grasp on was the exact subject her partner excelled at.

She tried asking him about it. Many, many times. His response was always the same.

"Maka. You can't just…_understand_ music. It's more like…hmm…you can't use your brain on it. You have to use your soul. Like…like resonance! Oh, sure, there are explanations and theories in textbooks, but they don't give it justice, do they? That's how music is. Music has a soul wavelength, and as such, cannot be "understood" by the brain trapped in your thick skull."

She supposed that made sense. And if anything his replies distracted her. They started making her wonder when exactly her partner, her extremely lazy, slightly immature partner, had become so wise…

It was already hard enough for Maka to deal with his maturing body. She didn't need to be entranced with his new perspective of the mind, too!

For that was another thing she had trouble contemplating and comprehending lately—some uncomfortable…urges plagued her when it came to her partner. She found herself making excuses to stand near him or touch him. There were certain moments when her heart would slip into fluttering palpitations as though experiencing an adrenaline rush. She quickly discovered that Soul merely _smiling_ could cause the thundering in her chest.

But Maka wasn't stupid. Despite her surprisingly long string of denial (she carefully buried her painfully obvious feelings away for a whole three months), eventually the girl was forced to admit that she did indeed "like" the obnoxious teenage boy she lived with, ate with, and risked her life with.

This train of thought distracted her from her quest on explaining music for a time.

She wasn't entirely sure what was to be done with these…feelings. Oh, she knew what was happening on a chemical, scientific level; endorphins being released and neural connections in place where none had been before in that area where the emotion "love" was created in her brain. Her mind even contained a crude understanding of the urges: the moisture accumulating between her thighs, the tightening of her 'tiny tits' and that unbearable _heat _flushing her aroused body. Maka had read about lust and love and what induced it chemically, physically, mentally, and also emotionally.

But in the end, all this knowledge was captured in vain.

Because eventually the frustrated teenage girl discovered that in spite of one _knowing _how something worked or didn't work that did not mean they could control said something.

The meister knew what was happening, but at the same time was at a loss of what exact action needed to be taken in response to it.

Was now the time where she confessed to Soul?

No. No, _that _was a bad idea and she could only imagine how he would respond to it.

Did that mean she had to get rid of them then?

How exactly did one do that? Even her nifty memorization of the chemicals in the body that caused these effects didn't help her when trying to reverse them.

Then…was she supposed to change and make herself desirable to him?

Was she supposed to seduce him or make him fall in love with her like they did in the movies? The nerd morphs into something no one expected and the cool dude gets her? That didn't seem very logical or likely in her opinion. Plus she felt uncomfortable with the idea of changing to please anyone, most of all Soul. It kind of hurt to think that changing herself into something "better" would be the only reason he would like her.

What then did she do?

What on Death's green Earth was she supposed to _do_?

What made matters worse was he noticed her discomfort and confusion. He would ask her if she was sick or if something was bothering her and she would have to swallow around the lump in her throat and concentrate on each syllable of her reply.

"No…no everything's fine."

He didn't believe her. His newly developed intuition and maturity didn't let him fall for her pitiful excuses. He knew the following month that she was gone all the time for two reasons: to avoid him and to answer one of the questions pestering her mind. He hadn't concluded whether the two reasons were connected or not.

That answer came later one day after school.

Soul was waiting outside of Shibusen, slouching "coolly" beside his motorcycle and wondering what was taking his meister so long. The day hadn't been particularly grueling but the scythe didn't get much sleep the past two nights due to late missions and was hoping for a nap before dinner and "homework hour." She had been called in by Lord Death towards the end of their last class and as far as he knew was still inside the Death Room talking to him.

He didn't want to admit that it bugged him she was meeting with Death without him. They were partners, weren't they? A team. So why talk with one and not bring the other? It was strange and something Soul had never been on the receiving end of. Sure, occasionally he would be brought in without Maka, but that was because he was a Death Scythe.

Maka…well she wasn't. So what was the deal?

He waited a few more minutes that somehow felt like hours before he noticed her bobbing form skipping down the steps.

"'Sup, Tiny Tits. You were in there for a while."

It wasn't exactly a question, but Maka could tell it required an answer.

"Oh…yeah, well, Death was asking me some stuff." Soul raised silvery eyebrows.

"Oh?"

Translation: details, please.

Maka glanced away from him nervously, twisting her gloves in her hands. "Um, yeah, he wanted to know if I was considering creating another Death Scythe."

Soul froze. Wide, impossibly wide, crimson fireballs attached to her face. "_What_?" He cringed a little at his obvious desperation and fear. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth in a much calmer, more nonchalant tone. "Oh, er, wow. That's…an unusual question."

She didn't respond. That made him mad.

"What'd you say?" Soul watched his partner's clear face turn redder than when it burned last summer after three hours at the beach without sunscreen.

"I told him I wasn't. It wouldn't be fair to the other meisters and weapons coming in." The scythe winced unable to stop the prick of pain from shooting through him at her rational response. Though, really, what else did he expect from Maka? Sometimes she was more robot than human.

He belatedly realized she wasn't done yet.

"I explained that, to me, part of becoming a Death Scythe is the journey with a trusted partner. Experience and talent are important, but I…" She trailed off, cheeks somehow reddening further. Soul didn't interrupt. He recognized her unfinished statement this time. "I, um, said that I didn't have those two things. At least, not exceptionally. I'm an ordinary meister. How I turned you into a Death Scythe…that was a result of our partnership. Not me."

It wasn't a love confession, and he certainly didn't agree with her being 'an ordinary meister' or 'not exceptionally talented,' but he was pleased with her description of their relationship. Trust was a big deal to Maka, an object to be earned and not given away lightly. But he had hers. Thus, that prick of pain melted away and warmth he was quite familiar with replaced it. He was just about to grab her hand and respond with hints to their relationship being more than a mere meister-weapon partnership as he usually did when her mouth continued on. The next words crushed the growing warmth and bitter, freezing winds chilled him from the inside out.

"He respected my decision, but eventually did get around to begging me into a favor. I'm supposed to go home and pack my bags for a short mission with this weapon named…Gavin, I think? I don't know. I'll be back soon though! And it's only a one time deal. Apparently his meister can't be here right now, but he really needs the soul so…I got chosen as the temp."

Soul said nothing. He stared at her, face blank and red eyes, which she was sure had been filled with a weird sort of light moments ago, were now dull. His teeth worried his bottom lip as he turned around and hopped on his bike.

"Well, then. Better get you home so you can pack."

And that was it. Conversation over. No complaints, no more questions, no nothing. Soul pretended like she didn't exist for the hour it took her to get prepared to leave. She whispered a goodbye and a promise to be safe, though he still refused to acknowledge her. With her heart shattering into millions of splintered pieces, Maka left, hoping she'd still have a partner to return home to.

Two days. It took two days for Maka and the weapon, actually named Galen, to slay the kishin and obtain its soul.

They were probably the worst two days of her entire life.

Galen was a stubborn, pompous _ass_ and not even in the charming way like Soul or the hilarious, insane way like Black Star. He was a pure-blooded asshole as in the-only-thing-I'm-capable-of-doing-is-spitting-out-shit way.

And he had tried to _hit _on her! _Multiple, freaking times_!

It probably wouldn't have been that bad, in fact it might have been flattering, if the technician hadn't quickly discovered he flirted with every single female that walked by.

Galen was a cheating, playing bastard, just like Maka's father. And so far, she hadn't found one redeeming quality about him. At least her horn dog old man showed some remorse, though no restraint, for his actions. Galen merely shrugged at her when she pointed it out and ignored her incredulity. He proceeded to ignore her the following day, except when he was trying to cop a freaking feel or get a peek up her skirt! Maka was always careful to make sure he walked up any stairs they encountered before her.

It was evening time of the third day when she opened the apartment door with a groan and promptly fell facedown to the floor.

"Maka!" She heard from far away Soul moving towards her. Had he been in the kitchen? That was…different.

"Soul. Remind me to never ever, _ever _do a favor for Lord Death again. I don't care if the world is ending or someone's kicking puppies, I refuse to go on a mission without you! At the very least as a supervisor…"

"That bad, huh?" Damn bastard. He didn't even try to disguise the mirth resounding in his voice at her homecoming statement.

"You have no idea. I don't think I've come that close to castrating someone since Papa slept with that politician's wife…"

He didn't hide his confusion either. "…Castration?"

She nodded, her cheek brushing roughly against the carpet. "I tell you…that kid was horny and perverted like nobody's business. In fact, I forgot to check to make sure I have all the underwear I brought. I wouldn't be surprised if that jerk stole a pair."

Maka couldn't put a name to the abnormal strangled noise slipping out of the scythe's mouth, but his tone was colored with some emotion. "Stole…Your…Underwear…?"

She sighed before pulling herself into a kneeling position, allowing her the first sight of Soul in two, almost three, days. His shaggy hair was unkempt and settled on his brow just as she remembered it. Same with his baggy clothes, nearly constant slouch, and beautiful rubies for eyes. It might've been foolish and unreasonable to fret about, but she had worried that something would've changed in her absence. She was happy to see nothing had.

"Yeah, but whatever." She waved a hand carelessly to the side. "That's not important." She smiled cheekily up at him. "Didja miss me? I know you were kinda upset, but like I said it won't eve-"

"Yes!" He practically shouted, his eyes blazing with sincerity. Though she had made it sound like a joke, he responded emphatically. And there was no joke in those eyes.

She didn't understand it…but she liked it. Her stomach twisted anxiously in response to her acceptance of such a feeling.

Oh, Death, were those butterflies in there?

"Ehem, Sorry for shouting, just…yeah I missed you. Course, I missed my Maka." He smiled voice soft and reassuring. She didn't miss the possessive use of her name either.

He languidly offered her a hand, unfamiliar but enticing smile still in place. Maka saw her quivering hand rest in his gigantic palm before his fingers curled protectively around it. He yanked her to her feet with hardly any exertion.

"I, um, made dinner." Soul scratched the back of his neck in a gesture his meister associated with apprehension. "And, uh, some dessert, too. For you." He mistook her high eyebrows as confusion. In actuality, Maka was in shock. "Oh! And me too. Yeah, for the both of us. As a 'welcome home' thingy, but…first…uh, first I'd like to…um…" A very adorable blush danced across his face and the hand that remained inside of his felt his fingers clench.

Silence permeated the room and Maka wondered what he was waiting for. His sentence was quite obviously unfinished, but the teenager looked like he wasn't planning on completing it.

"Oh…thanks, Soul. So…what are we doing before dinner?" Her words made him shiver for whatever reason. There was another moment of silence before his body tensed and then relaxed. His eyes snapped to hers, deep scarlet holes sucking her in. She was so entranced that she barely heard his whispered explanation.

"I have to show you something."

Maka nodded, the only motion her frazzled, confused body could produce as she let Soul drag her past the living room, the kitchen, and their bedrooms to the back room. She didn't usually proceed this far down the hallway as the spare room was Soul's room, the place where his both hated and loved grand piano sat in a corner while a record machine and piles of records were located in the opposite one.

She was mildly surprised that he led her to here of all places, but that unusual action was forgotten as his feet led them to the piano. Maka's normally buzzing brain was silent for once. It couldn't even understand why it didn't understand why somewhere in her she _did _understand and so it shut off. Broke apart. She watched with large green eyes as Soul arranged her body on the piano stool and then sat his next to her.

He didn't watch her, but she knew that any movement or sound on her part would be noticed. Carefully and oh so slowly, Soul's sinewy hands, pianist hands, lifted the fallboard to uncover shining ivory and ebony keys before settling perfectly on top of them. She saw their even, confident placement and watched, transfixed, as they began to play.

He started with one note. Just one.

His finger struck it over and over again while the others remained unmoving and in place. The sound of the solitary note settled in Maka's ears and soon, an unnatural ringing persisted inside of them. Odd, but not uncomfortable.

As though they were waiting for that moment when the persistent note would take root in her ear canal and play itself, his other fingers came to life.

As if from a distance, she saw them glide up and down the white and black shapes, sounds weaving all around her in a wondrous, unbelievably balanced cacophony. On one hand, it looked like, sounded like, chaos. On the other…the ringing from the note no longer played, but still very _there_ somehow tied all the others together, creating music so beautiful that even Maka, unmusical as she was, had to love it and be moved by it.

The song was deafening at first, full of staccato notes and dark minors. It described desperation and confusion, madness and false pretenses, and late nights that resembled living nightmares. Blood, the edge of a scythe blade, and the haughty stomp of boots were implanted in the young girl's mind. Maka wasn't so sure she was even in the apartment or, hell, even alive, as the music played on.

There was a shift and the piercing insistence of that original note effectively bound the music's beginning darkness to this startling, unexpected softer sound. The keys tinkled now, resembling the cry of many bells instead of the piano strings they were. She still could detect madness, though of a different breed then the one acquired from Black Blood, and a bittersweet emotion. Half the time the mournful dance of Soul's fingers gliding across the keys translated to a never-ending sadness. But then, without warning, happier tones reminisced on talks lasting until dawn, laughter echoing across a shrinking space between two bodies, and a festering passion barely hidden beneath red-tinted windows. Each key was pressed with a certainty that Maka couldn't fathom. She knew better than to try.

The end came abruptly. The softness prevailed in the last fleeting strains of music, but that awe-inspiring surety and resolve dissolved. Bitter, tired notes surrounded them now and Maka could feel the writhing, desperate agony they spoke of. Her soul, trained to resonate, translated the whispered words drifting in the last few notes of music, the repetition of that first note that started it all fading away into an unsure blackness, unfinished and afraid of what came next.

Shakily, Soul's hands recoiled from the piano with a sigh. He hurriedly twisted to glimpse Maka's face.

"Maka? Why are you crying?"

The girl couldn't hear him, too preoccupied with the continued ringing of the first and last note in her ears. The wetness on her face wasn't even registered by her body, and neither were the hands tenderly cradling her head and wiping them away.

"Was it bad? Did I do something wrong? I thought that…I hoped you would…I'm sorry, Maka! I didn't want you to cry…I didn't know you'd cry…"

Finally, she rediscovered her vocal cords. She answered the unspoken question so carefully hidden beneath the music.

"I do, too."

"Hmm?"

"Soul, I love you, too. I love you, too. Oh dear Death, I really do love you."

The hands were struck motionless. In fact, the whole body of Soul Eater Evans was frozen after those words.

Then, Maka was being pulled to her feet. Those hot hands brought her closer to her partner's face, eyes narrowed and disbelieving.

"…What did you say?"

She didn't pause. The words flew out of her mouth, freed once and refusing to remain imprisoned ever again. "I love you."

The next instant had Maka being pushed atop the piano's keys. A loud, joyful BANG echoed from the instrument and Soul's heavenly declaration composition came to a close as he pressed feverish, needy lips against her own.

Maka Albarn didn't understand music, but that didn't concern her much anymore.

Music wasn't something of the mind or the body; it was a concoction, an embodiment, a pure, honest sound of a soul and only a soul could understand it. Hers did, and she knew it.

She knew it the moment it throbbed in time to Soul's song written for her.

She knew it the second her own soul responded in the only way it could: with the tiniest humming sound of fresh, joyous tears cascading down her face.

And she knew it the day she had fallen in love with the musical sound of Soul's soul and the boy it resided in.


End file.
